WHEN SHE ASKS ME FOR A POEM
When she asks me for a poem
She expects me to write of her lovely eyes
The place I call home
Her soft laughter, where all my fears disappear.
She expects me to write of her strength
How the world bends her, but never breaks her.
Of her gentle touch
How she calms the storms inside m
The glow of her tender skin, guiding me through the dark.
She expects me to write of how she loves me
How she expands my world
How I pour my quiet fears into her hands
The ones no one else can see or hear.
But I choose not to.
That's for the world to judge.
When I write her a poem
I’ll write of the roads she’s walked
The paths I know too well.
Of how her embrace becomes my quiet song.
I’ll write of her full heart
Hiding beneath her half chest
Of my admiration for her little breasts
The tenderness of her thighs
The little devils dancing in her brown eyes.
I’ll write of the strength in her soul
How people see her smile, but not the battles
She fights behind closed doors.
They see her grace, but not the tears
That shaped it.
When I write her a poem
I’ll write of her vulnerability
The world sees her as fearless
But only I know the weight of her worries
The trembling softness she never shows.
I’ll write of her creative mind
Her Genuis when she assumes.
Her dreams painting the sky in colors
No one else could ever name.
I’ll write of her humor
People see her calm, composed face
But I know the laughter that bubbles over
When she tells those little jokes just for me.
I’ll write of everything
Her deepest desires, her greatest fantasies.
People see her as certain and sure
But I hear the quiet whispers
She speaks into the dark.
I’ll write about everything.
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